


Colorless Clarity

by Lovelettes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Trickster Mode, Tricksters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelettes/pseuds/Lovelettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the haze of orange and green and pink and blue and all of this sugar, sugar, <em>sugar</em>, you wonder how long it's been since you were last yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colorless Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize beforehand.

Through the haze of orange and green and pink and blue and all of this sugar, sugar, _sugar_ , you wonder how long it's been since you were last yourself.

But then you just _don't_ because why bother? You're happy. You're happy, happy, _happy_. This is the best thing that's ever happened to you, this saccharine cheat code. You were _never_ happy before all of this, so why care about life before now? Why care about those emotions of misery, sadness, self-doubt, self-hatred? Why?

 _Why??? Why should I care???_ you think, and even your thoughts are echoing with that same sweet voice, the same excitement, the same manic tone.

You're on a sugar rush that you will never come down from. And you're content.

But something inside of you screams. It screams louder than the muffled screams coming from your mouth.

"Jaaaake! Jaaaake, ahh, Jake!" come the cries. You press your hands to your mouth to quieten your moans and your keens and your screams, but there's really no point. There's no point in hiding how _good_ you feel.

Why bother?

You drop your hands and raise your hips, bracing yourself on Jake's knees, back arching, and slam your hips back down to his. And then you're full, full, _full_ again with hot and sweet and so much Jake that there's no way to properly express how you're feeling. Your voice catches when you twist your hips a certain way, and you figure that sound might just suffice. Just for now.

Jake's watching you, bright eyes alternating between holding yours and taking in the sight of you taking him inside of you. He has better self-control than you do, as evidenced by how quiet he is, but you know that he's enjoying it just as much as you are. You can see it in his expression. You can see it in that borderline-wicked grin on his lips. You can feel just how _much_ he loves you and how much he loves your body by how he's gripping your hips with all of his strength, forcing you down harder on his cock, and by how he absolutely _pulses_ inside of you.

Kissing Roxy is great. And kissing Jane is great, too. But _nothing_ compares to being fucked by Jake. _Nothing_.

"Hah...hah...haHNN _NN!_ "

You find that being fucked raw by your combination boyfriend, fiancé, and husband is the best feeling in the world. It makes you the happiest. It makes you the saddest.

That thought scares you. Where did _that_ come from?

 _Sad???_ you think through the fog of heat and sucrose, _What's that???_

Something feels strange to you as Jake pulls you forward into a kiss, his own hips slamming up, up, up into you. Through the meeting of lips and tongues, and above the sound of skin slapping skin and pants, you feel something darken inside of you. Something reminiscent of dread and fear. You don't know what it is, and you try to ignore it, but it keeps eating at you. Eating and gnawing and _clawing_ at you.

Jake's hips work faster, his arms around your back pulling you tighter against him, his tongue tangling and lapping at yours like it's candy, sweet candy. Your voice raises in pitch, sounds different, not like yours. But then again, it hasn't sounded like yours for awhile now, has it? Because everything is candy and colors and hot and sweet and sticky and now it's white, oh God it's white. It's white, and you're coming, coming, _coming_. And you're squeezing Jake with everything you have, and he's filling you with hot and sweet and sticky goodness. And it's white. It's white.

Everything is white for a moment. No colors or bright. Just white.

It's clear, too. There's clarity in this colorless state. There's a moment here where you understand how wrong all of this is, how terrifying all of this is. The moment is fleeting, but it exists.

Colors bleed into your vision. Into, not from. You have to close your eyes for a moment because it's too _much_. Too much color. Too much bright.

You reopen them to look at Jake. He's sated, content, happy. You're jealous. You're not happy. You're not happy at all.

The high you felt is gone, ebbed away by the white and clarity, even as the color and blur settles back in. Jake's there still, and you're there still, but you're not there. That's Jake, but it isn't. That's you, but it isn't. You're a spectator now and a spectre now, a ghost watching from the corner as two varicolored abominations lament their relations with small laughs and heavy breathing.

"I love you," Jake says, but is it him that says it?

"I love you," you say, but it feels wrong. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!"

It's true in some universe, but this isn't the Jake you love, is it? This isn't you saying it, is it? This is someone else, isn't it? This is just a freak without inhibitions repeating whatever his pseudo-husband utters, isn't it?

But that freak is you. That freak wrapped up in a candied demon's arms is you.

The clarity is further blurred as he presses kisses against your temple. God, why can't you be this happy? Why can't you be happy like him again? Why can't you join your friends in a state of perfect nirvana?

You close your eyes and forget these thoughts. You're exhausted. You don't want to feel anything anymore.

You lay cuddled against his chest, and you find that there's a hollow ache in yours. So you cry. You cry and cry and cry, and you don't mean to, but it's happening. Tears that feel simultaneously foreign and familiar slip from your eyes.

You open your eyes, blinking in surprise. Silently, your fingers slip beneath your shades, touching the wetness. You stare at the crystalline drops dotting your fingers in confusion. Pure, honest confusion. Recognition is there, but then it isn't.

_Tears._

_Tears._

_What are those?_

But there is no answer to your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm apologizing again.
> 
> I feel like Dirk would be the only one that feels a little...off in Trickster Mode. He's happy, but he knows there's something not quite right.
> 
>  
> 
> [ __My tumblr._ _ ](http://lovelettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
